1214 - New Years Deceive

New Year’s Eve is here, but what’s the big deal?
Well, maybe it’s an artificial thing
But something about its effect is real
On the mind, on the conscience; there’s a sting
In the tail of each old year, a nagging
Of inner voices, scolding and austere
As previous plans, so grand, finish folding
And, so convenient, new ones appear
A time for reflection on your failure
For ever more hopeless hopes to reveal
Themselves like some distant mirage in spring
Glimpsed from winter’s cold desert long before
Their close-up emptiness; the shadows steal
Closer, but tonight, there’s celebrating

1213 - Playful dayful

Off work, hooray, hooray, off work, hooray
Off work today, today, off work today
Got time to play, to play, got time to play
To play all day, all day, to play all day

I’ve put four songs to music, to music
I just had lyrics, I just had lyrics
Well-rested, I played quick, yes I played quick
Lots of new guitar licks, new guitar licks

I’m tired after such hard work, hard play
I’m colder than a used ice pick, ice pick
No fire to sit near, sit near this cold day
Too cold even to buy a drink, I think

The next thing, the next thing’s, to eat, I’d say
I’m hungry, hungry, so I’ll get food, quick

1212 - Like the Marie-Celeste

So few in work today, I sat alone
Apart from the bleached blonde married woman
Two rows of desks away, and also some
Behind those tall grey cupboards, all hidden
Sparse voices in the office, abandoned
By most floundering in the aftermath
Of one more cold blue Christmas almost done
I’m emailing Ian again; I’ll have
To call him when I’ve done all my work stuff
Well, that didn’t take long. Reach for the phone
And have a long chat with that man Ian
Because to fill this empty day is tough
Without some chat to fill it up; someone
For company, though in a far-off town
Tue 29 December

1211 - Making it up as we went along

I drove through Ireland’s dark jaw and then out
Once more into the safety of the dock
That was reaching over to pick me out
And deposit me once more on the rock
That’s largest of the British Isles. Take stock
Now of the holiday just gone. Was it
Everything I’d hoped? No, but still it rocked
Now and then with some good moments. I hit
On a good new tune, which the guys helped knit
Together with production values brought
From years of sound recording - mainly rock,
But also dance and noise. They did their bit
To help me, plus five improvs all filled out
With ad lib strums and twiddles, hums and pluck.

1210 - Thinking about leaving

My last day here at the Irish cottage
Four days of fun, a long music workshop
Shaky Dawg will be rehearsing soonish
I’ll stay for that and then our time will stop
I’ll have to leave West Cork behind and drop
My car into the Irish interior
Where snow and ice have both been deadly dropped
At night, heading ever inland, my car
Occasional spots of light, headlights afar
Appear just as I crest a dark hill road
Disappearing, as down again I drop
Dark red car in the grip of Ireland’s jaw
Emerging as Dublin’s yellow lights flash
Till, by the quayside, the long ride will stop
Sunday 27 December

1209 - Bottles in Cork

A rainy day way out here in West Cork
Every day here brings its own sun and rain
And a sudden strong wind can stop the talk
As we push past a wobbling window pane
(As we push past a wobbling window pane)
We go inside with our supplies all bought
From the town down the long and lonely lane
We get inside in time to miss being caught
We want to do things, not just there for sport
We ate some duck, or something, but not pork
Wondering where the name ‘Stroganoff’ came from
With strange reality free to distort
We then came upstairs with a roll and rock
Turned off the clock and went to work again
Sat 26 December

1208 - The decibels of Christmas

December the 25th - Christmas Day
I hardly even know that that’s today
They’re all celebrating it far away
But we’ve all moved ourselves quite far away
And it’s not even snowing here today
It could maybe be, over England way
But more likely it’s dry, usually the way
The least memorable, most memorable
Such day, such a day to remember well
Though like a hazy dream, it’s soluble
In liquid, smoke and food, digested well
In liquid, smoky, tasty sound morsels
Sound you can touch and taste and even smell
The mixing desk pumps out its decibels
Fri 25 December

1207 - Hard at work (in the music studio)

Twelve hours of sleep, bar trip to the toilet
A long talk at breakfast (in afternoon)
We drive down to the town, for we must get
The fuel our labour is bound to consume
We consumed it after the afternoon
After the afternoon we lit the fuse
After the afternoon we couldn’t lose
After the afternoon we had our fill
After the afternoon we always will
After the afternoon the changes get
Quite stranger us after the afternoon
Get crazier after the afternoon
We’re still not sleeping, I could get upset
But get on with it, and there’ll be sleep soon
Thur 24 December

1206 - Arrival in Ireland

I was right yesterday - no sleep was had
Last night on that noisy crowded ferry
And at 6am, in the dark, I had
To drive out of Dublin. I got very
Lost in the city centre. The Liffey,
Custom House, Henry Street, all dark, empty
Felt like a cab driver plying his trade
But no customers there; far too early
Passed Dun Laoghaire, Bray, Wicklow, Arklow, the
South coast at Waterford (missed out Wexford)
Through Cork City, through Bandon and Bantry
Up Sheep’s Head Peninsula (icy road)
To the white cottage; they’re expecting me…
Got there by two, time enough to record!
Wed 23 December

1205 - Not yet beyond the sea

It’s ten minutes to two in the morning
I’m on this ship with half an hour to spare
Before it starts its Irish Sea crossing
From Holyhead to Dublin over there
In Ireland. When I drive off, not sure where
I’ll go, perhaps through Carlow, Kilkenny
And Waterford, hearing an Irish air
From Van the Man Morrison, well, maybe
Been on this boat before, just over three
Years ago, when, like now, I was driving
My dark red Fiesta. Some have just chairs
But I’m on the leather sofa, comfy
And looking forward to some relaxing -
If not actual sleeping sur la mer…
Tue 22 December

1204 - Odyssey by coracle

Sore throat on the eve of my odyssey
To Irish lands of legend, myth and song
Germs bubbling just as Dublin beckons me
It’s odd, you see: I’ve missed, a whole week long,
Wine, whiskey, stout, fags, yes, the whole shebang
So why now is the throat tickling me so?
Oh, thanks! Throw salt over shoulder, its tang
Faultless for gargling; doing that also
Or will be after fourteen lines or so
That’s lines of verse, not coke, by the way, see?
If I don’t choke, I’ll reverse this bug! Strong
I have to be; see my coracle go
Westward, ho, over the cold Irish Sea
Odyssey, oracle: sing, golden tongue!

1203 - Time is still running out

I won’t talk about Christmas, not just yet
There must be other things to talk about
This weekend’s been used up, my plans upset
By going backwards, forwards, round about
Buying, collecting, deliv’ring all sorts
Of presents, cards and silly thingamajigs
And now the weekend’s gone, the time’s been bought
And sold, and I’ve still not written lyrics
Or composed a tune; I’ve still not practised
New stuff for Ireland. But there’s still time yet
To do something before the lights go out
But I’ve not eaten, and Andy just keeps
Calling; we’ve been moaning about poets,
And our ideas for next year tumbling out

1202 - Snow rest for the wicked

Rose about nine, read Captain Corelli
But still twenty pages from the end when
Time came to go down to West Didsbury
To collect my mum’s picture in its brown
Frame, then on to Wilmslow, and Josephine
We had brunch at Sainsburys in Salford
Then on to the skating rink in Swinton
Parked and waited, and played as the snow poured
Slipping, sliding, pushing, pulling, then scored
Lines across the ice with our blades, quickly
Picking up how to stay on our feet. Then
Said ‘See you after Christmas!’ Time to head
Back into Manchester to see Pearl; we
Had curry in Rusholme, and home by ten

1201 - Friday night, just doing stuff

I’ve worked so hard I’ve got a slight headache
Despite coffee and tea drunk frequently
To stem dehydration and liquidate
My once over-alcoholised body
Been wrapping everyone’s Christmas prezzy
A task I loathe, and am bad at, to boot
A hell somewhat ameliorated by
Lots of good music in background; then, chat
On Facebook, mainly, and now, this sonnet
And suddenly, it’s getting late. I’ll wake
Not too early, not too late, Saturday
Morning, and should be both rested and fit
To spend some time with two daughters: to skate
With Jo, and dine with Pearl in the city

1200 - The first snow came today

We’re nearly there, c’mon, we’re nearly there
A few more steps, a few more steps to go
Till we're past the shortest time of the year
At this time of year, time passes so slow
Especially with Christmas making it so….
So… I don’t know… just, you know… miserable
Christmas and New Year, happiness and no
Escape. You must be happy, sociable
And pull something, a cracker at table
Yes, that’s the one, her over there, don’t stare
Looks okay on the surface, but below
As I know, there be dragons, be trouble
Be rabid reindeer, foaming mouth, mad stare
Unsanitary claws draw lines in snow

1199 - Solo so low

Hello, are you receiving me, hello
Are you receiving me, hello, are you
Receiving me, hello, I said hello
Are you, no, it seems not, you’re not, are you
You’re not receiving me, are you, that’s true
Well fly me to the moon and let me swing
From a moon tree, where I would swing so true
Solo in the solar wind, I can’t sing
In that vacuum, I assume, assuming
I wanted to, like I do here, although
It’s quite hard here, too, heretofore, to you
It’s quite disheartening, hearing not listening
From you, so low you’re whispering so low
While I’m trying to sing, swing low to you

1198 - Deja vu on TV and in reality

Hey hey I’ve retuned my telly okay
Got rid of ITV Wales, S4C
Got Channel 4 back, hopefully to stay
And I’ve got it on just in time to see
‘Hunger’. Northern Ireland, early eighties
Was a shitty time and place, no question
And that’s displayed on the walls of The Maze
In the hunger strike-themed film that’s now on
Since then I’ve visited Northern Ireland
A few times since the truce of Good Friday
The ’98 peace pact that seemed to be
The end of Catholic and Protestant
Enmity. Yet troubles return, they say
To haunt the streets of Armagh and Newry

1197 - When you're a stranger

It’s strange how strange people can be, it’s strange
How people can be strange, it’s strange to me
But maybe it’s me who is strange, it’s strange
But unless I change, they’ll be strange to me
They’re even stranger in a strange city
A stranger is in danger, within range
A stray angel, a stranger to pity
Pitted against the city that is strange
Not fitting, flitting, splitting, quitting, change
Of setting, upset, regretting quickly
Getting wet, better get ready to change
Trains again, aim again, a strange city
But people cannot change, I cannot change
City, I have to change the strange in me

1196 - Struggling, juggling

This weekend I’ve been writing love poems
I’ve not practised music yet, not at all
It’s strange how inspiration has its whims
Am I a writer, or more musical?
I’m still not sure which is my favourite ball
When juggling them all round before my eyes
But often all I need is approval
To lift my confidence with each of these
Right now I’m not sure where my music lies
Have I dropped that ball? Certainly it spins
Crazily sometimes, and I lose control
Like Wednesday night, when to my sad surprise
I struggled with my very own rhythms
And now they must be caught before they fall

1195 - From clubhouse to doghouse

Fore! Tiger Tiger, burning bright, in the
Bedrooms of the night, it’s a hole in one
And another and wow, yet another!
He never misses. But his time has come
To pay. His poor missus may demand some
Compensation, a billion or two
For such a public humiliation
He’s in the rough for a change; he’ll have to
Put his club away. Maybe someone new
Might get a chance for once, romantically
Opening up the golf world. Could be fun
The British Open and The Masters too
Fore! Tiger Tiger, burning bright, in the
Spare bedroom of the night, what have you done?

1194 - Friday night thrills and spills

I’ve not one much tonight, except to chat
Online, and listen to some old records
No drinks or fags, so I’m quite pleased with that
Mind you, I’m tempted to eat some seconds
Having had tea a few hours ago. What’s
In the fridge or on the shelf? Not a lot’s
The answer. I don’t buy snacks, on purpose
But I have sardines in tomato juice
And also in olive oil. Soon it’s Ross
On TV; weather’s on now, and there’s frost
No ice skating this weekend - no pink rink
In Swinton, but I can do my shopping
And picking up of parcels from the Post
Office depot. Well, that, for now, is that!

1193 - What's your poison?

I’m giving up the drink after tonight
I’m cutting down, no, giving up, quite soon
Or should I carry on till New Year’s Night
And from then become a boring old prune?
2010 a dry year? The moon
Is more likely to be made of blue cheese!
Talking of blue cheese, I had a mushroom
Pepper and blue cheese sandwich. King Willy’s
In Wilmslow does them for a fiver. Please
Check out the Spanish tapas there, there’s quite
A big selección. This afternoon
I saw my daughter’s Christmas play, and she’s
The chief elf! Good elf to you all, in spite
Of alcohol or what else you’ve consumed!

1192 - The big gig - well, the small gig really

Tonight I walked to town with my guitar
Electric pink, snug in its brand new case
Although the venue wasn’t all that far
Was nervous someone might steal it and race
Off into the night. Anyway, I faced
The ordeal of playing live once again
The pub was fairly quiet, lots of space
Some people sang to CDs, some rapped; then
Some strummed acoustic; one guy even lent
My pink guitar for his set. I felt far
From at my best, but it’s good to practice
Whenever opportunity presents
Maybe next time I’ll sit down; easier
To see the frets and play in the right place!

1191 - The eyes no longer have it

The eye op means I need reading glasses
I knew it would; they kept on telling me
I went into Boots, looking for glasses
Fortunately, somebody guided me
Their glasses were eighteen quid. She told me
They were only a coupla quid nearby
So I felt my way there quite cautiously
And was directed to the glasses. Eyes
Screwed up, scrutinising, choosing to buy
At £4.99, a pair of glasses
Though I couldn’t see if they suited me
Back at the office, others tried to try
Them on, pondering buying some glasses
Of their own, not even eye-ronically

1190 - Facing the music

Why did we bail out the banks? Well, what else
Is left, apart from gambling on futures?
The steel mills, the mines, manufacturers
Of motor parts, most anything that smells
Of productive labour has gone abroad
Now there’s just services, public sector
And The City. Poor people must trek to
The Smoke and live in cubby holes. On board
The good ship Lolly, moored in Monaco
Your future’s past with a wave of the hand
And those poor folk who can’t get off the land
It’s not so bad if they can get some blow
And watch the ex-factory hands sing out
Of tune on the X Factor, down the spout

1189 - Two crusades and a packet of crisps, please

In the year 2525...no,
I mean 1189, Phil Two
Of France and Dick One of England thought, Blow!
These Ay-Rabs gotta go, man! Cos they knew
They was ‘invadin’ the ‘Holy Land.’ Coo -
Sounds pretty much like today, hey? Bushy
And Bliar thought the same way, though Tone knew
It was dumb, but he could get decent fees
Ingratiatin with rednecks. But now he
Ain’t pop’lar with the ‘old Europe’ - oh no -
You know, those pesky varmints who say ‘Screw
You, Pentagon!’ Entangled now, Dave C
Is already suckin up to them. So
Like the Crusades, here comes death aplenty!

1188 - Bible studies with beer and cigarettes

Love comes and goes around and round and round
On the record player, each scratch and hiss
Symbolically augmenting the sound
But does ‘Revelation’ end with a kiss
And if so, is it bestowed by Judas?
Dylan’s coming up next, appropriately
Best going straight to the track, ‘Outlaw Blues’
And then it will be time to sail the sea
Across to ‘Crucifixion Lane’ with the
Procol Harum crew, fixing to die, bound
To the mast, spinning towards nemesis
Faster into the vortex, each LP
Wise words or druggie nonsense they expound
Conquistadors of time, space and abyss

1187 - Long day's journey into Blighty

From Paisley to Glasgow Central, the train
Skipped o’er the rails, past local industry
(What’s left of it), and dropped me off again
Caught the connecting train immediately
From Platform 2 to Lancaster; then the
Few minutes’ wait for the train to Wigan
Made bearable by being able to see
The long pins of the gaggles of students
Gabbling and gobbling. Got off at Preston
And sat on a bench, finishing Iain
Banks’ novel, ‘The Bridge’ which forthrightly
Places the Forth Bridge in a location
Deep within the psyche; well-known terrain
Transformed into dreamscape of love and pain

1186 - Glasgow kiss

I’m beginning to belong to Glasgow
Glasgow’s beginning to belong to me
I’m beginning to know just where to go
In the centre of that well-planned city
On the outskirts the tower blocks stand, like trees
In a spaced-out forest after the bombs
The trains cross the Clyde, bonny and shiny
Where shipbuilding was the thing, slipping once
Upon a time into the setting suns
Of war and peace, the ritual sword blow
Of capitalism’s hara-kiri
Applied with cruel east-west slide motions
Slicing through docks. Still, flocks of tall girls flow
Up and down grid iron streets, ever thirsty
Thursday 3 December

1185 - I can see clearly now blues

I didn’t need my shades today - hooray!
I said I didn’t need my shades - hooray!
No, I didn’t need my shades today - hoo
Ray, I can see clearly now, wow, hooray!

I drove to Leeds along the motorway
I said I drove to Leeds, yes, all the way
Yes, I drove to Leeds along the motor
Way, hey, hooray, hooray, drove there today!

I read my poems ’bout eye surgery
I said I read my poems - urgently
Yes, I read my poems, a surge of urge
Drove me right over the M63

No, the M62 goes to Leeds, fool!
Rhyming, you see, can be a cruel tool!

1184 - Dawn of December

December again, welcome the darkness
Before the light, like sleep before the dawn
Like the rejection before the success
Like non-existence before we are born
Like gestating sketches before they’re drawn
Or hunger and thirst as mealtime draws near
Or loneliness until you meet the one
The one that becomes two, then three and four
Before the confidence we go through fear
After the suffering we become blessed
After the sowing of the seed grows corn
After we’ve heard it all we start to hear
From naked beginnings we learn to dress
And the curtains of ignorance are torn